


Forget me not

by Boudoir_Writer



Series: Never let you go [1]
Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood and Injury, Collateral Damage, Extremely Dubious Consent, Hate, Heavy Angst, How They Met, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani Needs a Hug, Kink Meme, Knifeplay, M/M, Murder, Nicky has no redeeming qualities in this one, Nicky is a psychopath, Obsession, Oral Sex, Poor Yusuf, Running Away, Sort Of, Stabbing, Stalking, Unhealthy Relationships, Violence, dark!Nicky, my prompt, off screen murders, petting, still immortals, stuck together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-18 13:08:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29858571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Boudoir_Writer/pseuds/Boudoir_Writer
Summary: “You ran from me.” Nicolò shrugs, unconcerned at Yusuf’s mounting despair. “You shouldn’t have done that.”
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Series: Never let you go [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2198307
Comments: 20
Kudos: 73





	Forget me not

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fill for my own kink meme prompt: https://theoldguardkinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/7005.html?thread=2600797 No one bit, so here I am, indulging myself...
> 
> Mind the tags, folk, this is a dark one. If you think I have missed any do let me know please. If you'd like to know more before reading, check the end notes and/or get in touch on Tumblr @ boudoirwriter. I'm happy to answer any questions.
> 
> I will ~~probably~~ definitely turn this into a series, with short pieces on how Yusuf comes to "manage" Nicolò's proclivities over the centuries... We'll see where the muse takes me!
> 
> Unfortunately unbetaed.

Ten years. Ten years for Yusuf to grow complacent. He crosses the desert, hides in a cave, eventually finds his way to Constantinople, finds a place, finds a job and a sense of normalcy that hasn’t felt since that fated day in al-Quds, when was struck down only to rise again.

Ten years and Yusuf forgets - memories turn into shapeless nightmares, splattered in red and painted green blue.

He knows he shouldn’t, not as long as they walk this earth. And that’s going to be for a while yet, as death and its blessed oblivion evade them.

And yet forget he does, so he doesn’t question the silence as he climbs the stairs to his small room above the spice shop. He’s too preoccupied with his latest commission, too tired by the long day of haggling for colours and supplies.

It’s only when he’s pushed face first into the wall, the cold kiss of a blade against his throat and Nicolo’s breath in his ear, scorching and familiar like the desert wind, that he remembers.

“Fuck,” he mutters, resting his brow against the rough grain of the plaster. A sudden bone weary tiredness threatens to smother him. If only it would, once for all.

Against the side of his face, Nicolò’s lips tug into a smile as sharp as his blade, and even with his eyes closed, trapping the sting of frustration and hopelessness in, Yusuf can picture it more easily than his own mother’s face.

“Later,” Nicolò promises, pressing himself against Yusuf. The familiar weight makes Yusuf shudder in revulsion and hunger.  He bucks in disgust - at himself as much as Nicolò, but Nicolò’s fingers don’t let him get away, tighten in his curls, the blade presses in. Against the cold bite of the steel Yusuf can feel the hot trickle of his own blood.

“Wait,” he mutters. “Just - I like this tunic.”

Nicolò hums, a quiet sound that reverberates into Yusuf’s marrow. The blade stills, then retreats, and Nicolò with it, just enough for Yusuf to turn around and rest his back against the wall. He’s not sure his legs would hold him.

Yusuf meets shard-like eyes, glinting in the low light just like the knife in Nicolò’s hand - Yusuf’s knife, the one he stuck to the hilt into Nicolos’ chest ten years ago, before he buried both, digging deep into sand and rocks with his bare hands, sobbing and shaking and hoping that would be it. Fool.

“Go on then. Strip.”

Yusuf takes off his tunic, hesitates at his breeches. He knows how this is going to go, how it has gone countless times before. He knows, so he strips everything off while Nicolò stares, with that unnerving gaze of his. Yusuf’s dick gives a twitch, like a trained dog under his master’s eye.

Nicolò chuckles. “Oh, you missed me.”

Yusuf's hands itch to close around that pale throat and squeeze and Nicolo’s must know, because his smile widens, condescending, and the tip of the blade returns to the hollow of Yusuf’s throat, then descends to circle a nipple. It taps at his ribs, counting them one by one, tests the give of his navel, then comes to rest at the nook of his groin. Yusuf shivers and sweats and stays.

“I missed you too,” he whispers against Yusuf’s lips.

Then he slips down Yusuf’s body, down to his knees. Should make him vulnerable, being at Yusuf’s feet. It doesn’t. He looks up at Yusuf as he mouths at his cock.

Nicolò’s eyes meet his, like they did in al-Quds. Treacherous waters, Yusuf was immediately shipwrecked. He still is.

He closes his eyes and braces for it.

“Look at me,” Nicolò says before he takes his dick in the wet heat of his mouth and buries the dagger into Yusuf’s thigh.

The pain is blinding, steel scraping on bone. Yusuf can’t breathe with the squeeze of it around his lungs, only part his lips on a soundless groan. Nicolò doesn’t relent. Keeps him pinned in place, keeps him hard until he has Yusuf spilling in more ways than one.

It’s only when the roar of his blood in his ears subsides that Yusuf registers the silence. He pushes Nicolò off him, gritting his teeth as Nicolò takes the blade with him. Hand pressed against his already closing wound, Yusuf listens, hopes for something,  _ anything. _ He finds nothing and looks at Nicolò, still crouched at his feet, smiling like a cat.

“What have you done?” Yusuf whispers, his throat seizing in horror. “The neighbours. I can’t hear -“ the children. Oh god, the  _ children _ . Yusuf drew horses and princesses for them on little scraps of cloth, taught them how to split open a persimmon and retrieve the little spoon-like filament within. “Nicolò, what have you done?”

Nicolò rolls his eyes, huffs and though Yusuf has not experienced death by drowning yet, he knows what it feels like. It feels like this: inevitable knowledge pressing in, a siege.

“You ran from me.” Nicolò shrugs, unconcerned at Yusuf’s mounting despair. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

Yusuf is on him in the next moment, fist swinging, hitting flesh and bone hard enough that something cracks in his hand. They crash to the floor, Yusuf on top. Nicolò spits blood and what must be a tooth and bursts into laughter though his jaw has just started mending.

“Oh, Yusuf, always so  _ dramatic _ ,” he snorts. ”They would have died anyway. I just sped things along a little bit.” He holds his fingers apart just a bit, licks the blood of his lip, grins with red stained teeth. Yusuf grabs him by the hair, wrenches his head back. Nicolò moans, bucks up against him. He’s hard against Yusuf’s buttocks. 

“Shut up.”

Of course he doesn’t. He never does.

“What does it matter?” Nicolò sighs, rolling his hips, watching Yusuf, eyes heavy with want. ”They all die. Except us. But I made it quick - and clean. For you. Because I knew you’d be like this, so I cut their throats while they slept. The mother first. Then the kids. Both of them. They didn’t even realize. That was good, no?”

He is smiling at Yusuf now, something tiny and hopeful, as if he expects some kind of praise. Yusuf lets him go, curls on himself, presses his hands to his face, against the rage, the nausea, the tears. Nicolò’s fingers run through his hair, gentle. Without looking, Yusuf can almost pretend it to be kindness.

“There, there,” Nicolò murmurs, and Yusuf breaks into sobs, shaking and gasping as if squeezing out a poison.

Eventually he stops, eventually everything stops but his shudders and Nicolò’s fingers in his hair.

“I hate you,” Yusuf says, numb, but lets himself be pulled against Nicolò’s chest.

Nicolò shrugs, unfazed, and keeps petting him, slow and measured, as if out of the two of them, the rabid beast was Yusuf.

“I know.”

“I won’t run again.”

Nicolò kisses the top of his head, letting out a delighted little laugh.

“Oh, I  _ know _ .”

**Author's Note:**

> Basically Nicolò is a murdering psychopath. He meets Yusuf in Jerusalem and, upon realising they are immortal, becomes obsessed with him. Yusuf, horrified, runs away at the first opportunity. This - this is the aftermath, if you will...
> 
> Triggers: check the tags but also SPOILER ------------------- murder of children (off screen)
> 
> Apparently forget-me-nots are also called scorpion grasses.  
> Thank you for reading. Let me know what you think! Comment or find me on Tumblr @ boudoirwriter.
> 
>  ~~And now I'm off to write some dark!Joe, to balance it out. :)~~  
>  Never mind that. dark!Nicky has taken over so hit me with what would you like to see next in this universe and I'll see what I can do to make it happen.


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